An Angel Unaware
by highland laurel
Summary: On his way to the Boone family Christmas celebration Mingo meets an unusual man. The Latin phrases within the story are translated at the end of chapter 2.
1. Chapter 1

An Angel Unawares

_Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares._

_Hebrews 13:2_

Chapter 1

The snowflakes grew in size as the afternoon wore on. By evening the snow was nearing a foot in depth and Mingo wasn't able to make as rapid a progress as he wished. He decided it would be best to find shelter rather than try and make the Boone's cabin, though he knew that Israel would be disappointed. Along a rock face he found a niche about eight feet in height and only five feet in width. Though not as ideal as a cave would be, it was too near dark to take a chance on finding one. Mingo spent the few minutes of daylight left gathering as many evergreen boughs as he could. With them he constructed a roof by wedging them into the niche where it narrowed about half way up, making a snug little triangular shelter.

Quickly he gathered an armload of firewood before it became too dark to see anything. He tapped the snow off the wood and ducked into the little shelter. With the cleft rock against his back he looked out onto the pristine white wilderness. The dark grayish-blue of the evening forest was etched with silver. It was so quiet that he could hear the soft clicking of the snowflakes as they fell against one another.

Smiling to himself at the winter wonders, he built a small fire toward the opening to his shelter. Indian-like he used as little fuel as possible, the flames dancing only a few inches above the seasoned wood. He leaned back against the limestone and chewed a piece of jerky, allowing his mind to wander through the forest to the Boone cabin.

Israel probably had his face pressed to an open crack in the door as he looked toward Chota. The family was expecting him today, wanting him to share in their Christmas celebration. As the years passed Mingo was growing better able to accept carols and traditions from his English past. The distance in time was easing the sharp pain that the season brought. New memories with the Boones were overlaying the old memories and Mingo was finding some peace with the celebrations that he had not found in his father's presence.

The years of sermons had made little headway into his heart, but now and then a passage or story struck a chord within him and stayed tucked down inside his heart. The Christmas story was one of those. Protective by nature, the thought of a laboring mother being turned aside to birth her child in a stable always brought forth feelings of outrage.

Sitting in his little rock shelter miles from anyone, Mingo allowed his mind to ponder the wonder of the story. As he sat silently he heard the sound of muffled wings as an owl swooped from one of the nearby trees. The falling snow continued to mask distant sounds.

Completely lost in thought, he did not know he had company until the old man was illuminated by his little fire. Startled, Mingo sat upright and grasped his knife, the reflex automatic. The stooped little man did not move but Mingo could see his eyes brightly reflecting the fire's light.

Recovering, Mingo gestured for the slight figure to enter his niche. Nodding in reply, the old man slipped silently to the space just to Mingo's left. The cold snowy scent that rose from the man's jacket permeated the small area, blending naturally with the fragrant pine boughs above. The two strangers looked at each other for several seconds, then Mingo slipped his knife back into its sheath.

"Welcome. I didn't expect to see anyone else out in this snowstorm. Please forgive my reaction."

"No offense taken, young man. It's always wise to be cautious. Man is not by nature a harmless creature."

Mingo sat pondering the old man's strange reply. Complete silence reigned in the little rocky refuge. After several minutes Mingo pulled out his tin cup. He scooted forward and filled it with snow, then placed it beside the fire to heat.

"You must be cold. I don't have any tea with me but we can at least have some hot water. I wasn't expecting to be out more than a few hours. The storm was stronger than I anticipated."

"Don't apologize. You're very thoughtful, youngster. I would like a hot drink." The man smiled, his strong white teeth gleaming in the firelight. Up close Mingo noticed that the man was strong and vigorous. He was not nearly as old as Mingo had first thought. He had no pack, and that discovery began to trouble Mingo's mind. What was an old man doing in the Kentucky wilderness on a cold snowy day without a pack? He had no weapon either. Keeping his eyes carefully diverted, Mingo stared into the fire, thinking.

The man's age was even more of a puzzle. His hair was white, but his face was unlined and his hands were strong. There was no sign of injury or wear in the joints as was common in old age. Through the thin cloth coat Mingo could see muscled arms. A feeling of unease began to grow in Mingo's mind. He leaned closer to the fire, stretched out his hands, and hoped that his action would be seen as non-threatening.

"You're trying to understand what I'm doing out here, and if I'm meaning you harm. Be at ease. I am just what I seem, an old man who's wandered too far from shelter on a snowy night." The old man's voice was low and musical, pleasing to the ear.

Mingo turned his head so quickly that his hair swung forward, nearly catching fire before he grabbed it out of the way. His dark eyes bored into the other man's for several seconds, the surprise plain in their expression.

The other man laughed softly. "I have the same effect on everyone. I know that I don't look my age. And I walk so quietly that people often think I've just appeared out of the air. But I assure you, son, I'm as solid as you are. Take my arm."

Mingo did as the old man demanded. The arm was solid. Mingo could feel the strong bone and firm muscle. He nodded and dropped his hand. The old man scooted closer to the little fire and held his hands over the flames.

"Would you like me to put more wood on the fire? I always build a small fire when I'm alone. My friends in Boonesborough frequently tease me about it. It's the Indian way."

"I'm fine, son. I know it's the Indian way to use as little as possible of the earth's bounty. You're a Cherokee, aren't you? I recognize the beadwork design on you coat and boots. You speak English very, very well. Better than the colonists in the area."

Mingo smiled and explained his education. He did not divulge any information about his father or the years spent in the darkness of London. In the silence that followed the two could hear a soft winter breeze beginning to slip through the trees. Mingo turned to his guest and extended his right hand.

"Please forgive my faulty manners. My name is Mingo, and I am pleased to meet you."

The old man smiled and took Mingo's strong hand. "I'm equally pleased to meet you. My name is Michael."

"How appropriate. I was just thinking of the nativity story from Luke. I'm to spend Christmas with my friends in Boonesborough. That's why I'm out in this storm."

"Oh? Tell me about them."

Mingo spent the next half hour regaling Michael with stories about the citizens of Boonesborough. Michael listened without interrupting, his eyes never leaving Mingo's firelit face. When he finished Mingo leaned over, grasped the cup of hot water, and extended it to his guest. Michael took a small sip, then handed the cup back to Mingo. Mingo likewise took a swallow and set the cup back near the fire. Another small stick stimulated the flames and the rocky slit glowed with warmth.

The winter breeze spun the fluffy snow before the little niche. Mingo and Michael watched, then Mingo leaned back and yawned. He apologized, but Michael returned the gesture.

"I suggest that we lean back and sleep until morning. I think there's enough wood to keep us warm until then." Mingo stifled another yawn as Michael nodded. Then both men leaned back against the rocks with their legs stretched on both sides of the little fire. The winter breeze played with the falling snow and the two men drifted into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mingo opened his eyes to a fairyland. The trees wore fuzzy coats of white, and the little drifts of white sugar snow dazzled his eyes in the early morning sunlight. The air was alive with millions of tiny rainbows, broken into shards by the icy air. Beside him Michael woke.

"Caeli enarrant gloriam Dei," Michael's soft voice declared.

Mingo's eyes sparkled as he understood the Latin words. "Yes, on days like this it is impossible not to believe in a higher power." His breath blew a cloud of steam into the small space.

Michael smiled and continued. "Mingo, mens sana in corpore sano."

"Perhaps. I may have a sound body, but I'm not so sure about my mind sometimes."

Michael raised his white eyebrows. "Ad astra per aspera, my friend?"

"To the stars through difficulty? If that were true, I should be floating among the clouds as we speak."

"Maybe you are." Michael gestured at the fluffy white ground. "Doesn't that remind you of clouds, Mingo?"

"Very cold clouds." Mingo smiled and snapped a large piece of firewood against his knee. He placed both sticks on the coals and blew. Within only a few minutes the little fire was revived and the cup of water was heating. Silently he extended a piece of jerky to Michael and took one for himself.

"Mingo, may I ask you something?"

Mingo's dark eyes lost their sparkle as he nodded. A very private man, Mingo was reluctant to open his heart or mind to anyone, even to those he knew well. Michael looked deeply into the Cherokee's dark eyes for several seconds, then softly spoke.

"In vinculis etiam audax?"

Mingo's eyes widened. He frowned and inched himself as far back from the fire as physically possible. Michael sat silently waiting.

His voice as soft as the pearly morning light, Mingo answered. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I can see into your heart, son. What binds your heart in chains?"

Mingo allowed several minutes to pass, trying to decide if talking to Michael, a complete stranger, would help ease the painful memories. Finally he raised his dark head proudly and replied.

"Luctor et emergo, Michael."

"Yes, son, you struggle. But **do** you conquer? If you did, you would not still be bothered would you?"

Mingo reached for the hot water and swallowed a large mouthful. He cleared his throat and the cold words poured out as though melted by the drink. Michael listened in complete, compassionate silence. A quarter hour later the words ceased. Quiet settled in the fragrant little rock shelter. Softly Michael spoke.

"Mingo, I understand. I too have heard the bitter words, empty words, hateful words. The world is filled with shallow men. They are a vexation to us, yes. But they are even more a hindrance to themselves. You cannot change them if they do not wish to change themselves."

"Some are ignorant. Some are duplicitous, seeking to destroy their fellow man. For the ignorant, feel compassion. Lead them by example. From the duplicitous, distance yourself. They will drain your spirit from you as surely as a tick drains blood. I know that you seek answers. Son, remember: Deus est intus. He is inside you to guide you. And He'll comfort you. If you let Him, Mingo.** If** you let Him."

Mingo looked long into Michael's sparkling December-sky-blue eyes. The smooth face was lit with a gentle smile. Finally, nodding his head, Mingo sighed and stretched out his hand to grasp the tin cup. He took another swallow, then held the cup out to Michael.

The morning sunlight stretched buttery rays through the bare trees. Michael and Mingo finished the hot water, then Mingo kicked the small fire apart and drenched it with handfuls of fluffy snow. Michael ducked under the sheltering pine boughs and stretched to his full height. Mingo followed and did the same, flexing muscles cramped from long hours inside the small shelter.

"Where are you bound, Michael?" Mingo asked politely, his voice quiet.

"To the east, my friend. To the mountains."

"In the winter? Michael, I must say this, you will not survive a winter in the mountains dressed as you are. Come with me to Boonesborough and spend the winter." Mingo's eyes betrayed his concern and Michael met their expression with a bright smile.

"Non ministrari, sed ministrare. I come not to be served Mingo, but to serve."

Mingo frowned and shook his head. Michael reached out his hand and took Mingo's own. The warmth and strength surprised the Indian. Michael's eyes radiated affection. "Go on to your friends. They are anxiously awaiting your arrival. Celebrate the day. Celebrate your family, your friends, your life. Celebrate, Mingo. Pacem tu."

"Peace to you too, Michael," Mingo replied softly, the ancient greeting sounding newly born in the winter stillness.

Michael pulled his hand free, turned and began to stride strongly in the direction of the mountains. Mingo watched him forge through the foot-deep snow until he could no longer be seen through the trees. He stood for another few minutes, then came to a decision. He couldn't let the old man do as he planned. It was suicide. Mingo followed the trail into the forest for several hundred yards, then stopped, puzzled.

The tracks he followed were plain in the snow. And then suddenly they weren't. Stretching ahead of him were acres of pristine, drifted snow. No rabbit track, no deer track, no human track marred the sparkling mass. Without expectation, Mingo looked up into the winter bare trees. There was no sign of Michael anywhere. All around him the December morning celebrated itself. The air was alive with icy rainbows. Deep in the woods Mingo heard the call of a cardinal. Above his head a squirrel dropped an empty walnut shell, then scolded the Cherokee beneath him.

Israel was waiting. A warm hearth, a delicious meal, friendly toasts and hours of conversation beckoned. In the December firelight carols would be sung. Bright winter stars would fill the black sky with light. Suddenly Mingo smiled. He silently saluted his Christmas visitor, then turned and rapidly walked through the brightening Kentucky morning to his celebration.

Latin translations:

Caeli enarrant gloriam Dei. (The heavens declare the glory of God.)

Mens sana in corpore sano. (A sound mind in a sound body.)

In vinculis etiam audax. (In chains but still free.)

Luctor et emergo. ( I struggle but I conquer.)


End file.
